


The Beer

by micamiin (orphan_account)



Category: Eddsworld - All Media Types
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst, Child Abuse, Domestic Violence, M/M, Mental Health Issues, One Shot Collection, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Rating May Change, Songfic, i mean i use a headcanon that i created mainly to cope with my own abuse, idk i like making tom sad, like generally a lot of angst and sort of sad things, shut up i really like this pairing, these arent great, tord and matt are there too dont fret i just pay overall attention to tom and edd
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-20
Updated: 2016-12-20
Packaged: 2018-09-10 13:48:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 775
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8919472
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/micamiin
Summary: {The beer I had for breakfast was a box of cheap white wineAnd the boom box on my shoulder was a box of ClementinesI ate every single one without noticing the moldYou said, "You're gross, my darling."I said, "No, I'm rock and roll."}(Kimya Dawson, "The Beer")
A compilation of Tom/Edd one shots.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Highschool!AU; activated.
> 
> warning for heavily implied and described child abuse and domestic violence.
> 
> also i wrote this at like three AM and it has not been edited do not harm me.

Tom was crying.

He hated it, he hated his life, he hated them, he hated himself. He was supposed to keep up some sort of front of being the tough guy who wouldn't care if his own mother was killed. Yet, of course, here he was in an alleyway beside the apartment building he lived in, sitting on some dirty, old, wet mattress that someone had thrown out, bawling his eyes out. Both of which had a ring of purples and blues that matched the ones on his neck around them. He was less upset about the wounds--he had gotten worse in previous homes, it was easy to say that this woman and her husband were the most forgiving he’d lived with--but moreso over being kicked out.

It had happened before, of course, but tonight he had said some things that he hadn’t totally meant, and he had no clue when he would be let back in with almost-sincere apologies and half-hearted gifts and tears in his foster parents’ eyes. If they even would allow him back inside. That scared him enough to cause him to have a rarely-shown breakdown, and he felt sicker with every damn tear that escaped his pure black eyes. And, dear god, did he pray that no one he knew would walk by and see him, shivering in some alleyway and sobbing on a stained mattress. There was no way to tell how much humiliation he’d go through if that happened and he didn’t want to find out.

When Tom had finally managed to look back up, the rain that had been little more than a drop here and there had become a pouring with rain drops large enough to sting as they hit his skin. He shivered as he felt his clothing soak through, rain easily dripping down his skinny frame and clothing clinging to his back like it was the only hope to live it had. It felt like when he got pushed into the creek behind the small house by his “brother”, and had come home in soaked clothing (he’d been punished for that, too). He hated that feeling, but it was too late to go back inside and get warm, dry clothing and dry off. He shouldn’t have said that he hated them, or that he wished he could kill himself to get away from them. He didn’t mean it and he regretted it immensely, but regret was coming far too late and apologizing was likely not going to cut it at this point.

“Hey--are you okay?”

Tom was startled by the voice raised just enough to be over the rain, cracking as it strained to be heard. His eyes quickly locked on the figure just at the end of the alleyway, blacked out by street lights behind it. From what he could tell this person was male; but there wasn’t much to support that fact.

With all of the energy he had left, Tom replied, “Yes.” His voice wlas scratchy and sounded greatly hoarse, but he did his best to appear to be fine.

“You don’t look okay,” the person replied, taking a few steps closer. “What happened to you? You look awful.”

Tom bit his lip, debating whether or not he should explain his current predicament, and gripping his arms to retain some warmth. “I’m fine,” he replied, his lips forming the words before he had fully registered the possible reaction that this stranger may have.

“You have two black eyes, a bruise like you were choked, and you’re sitting on a dirty mattress in an alley,” he retorted, extending a hand. “I don’t think you are okay. If you need a place to stay for the night, you can come with me.”

“I-I. . . .”

There was nothing that Tom could say in response; he was unable to comprehend why someone would help a stranger sitting in the rain, shivering. He sniffed, running a soaked hoodie sleeve under his nose, his shaking body barely able to lift that. He had taken the hand before he could possibly take in the possible dangers of going with him. His hand was warm, although not dry, and he shivered at the cold fingers that hooked between his.

“Good,” he said with a smile albeit the icy chill that hit him. “What’s your name?”

There was a pause, as if Tom had somehow forgotten his own name as he reasoned whether or not to tell him. It took a long moment before he managed to bring the energy up to speak again.

“Tom,” he answered, looking down as he stood.

The other man smiled. “I’m Edd.”


End file.
